The archives were dim and cool, with a domed ceiling and walls made of stone. Sconces held lamps with glass so thick it distorted the flame within. The air was dry and musty and smelled faintly of peppermint. The shelves contained all manner of written work, leather-bound books with peeling spines, scrolls with fraying edges piled on top of each other, sheaths of yellowing paper. They followed Matthias to the back, where the oldest tomes were kept. Very carefully, he took a thick scroll out from where it sat in its own pigeonhole.

“These came from my family,” he said. “Writings from one of the earliest matriarchs of the Byrnes, a woman named Agata. They were donated to the archives by my great-great-grandmother. I’m sure my mother wishes she could get them back, but they belong to the university now. She came today, though, to read them. Secretly too—if the Triumvirate knew she was in Ithilia, they’d call her to Banrissa. It was the first time I’d seen her in . . . oh, years now. Not since Hektor’s wedding.” He held out the scroll to Agnes. “You should read this. It’s part of your history too, after all.”

The paper was so thin, she worried it would disintegrate in her hands. Vada leaned over her shoulder as they read. Most of the words were illegible, smudged or faded with time. But there was enough left that Agnes could piece together.

. . . set out to explore the north and discovered . . . island with palace atop a cliff. Jewels filled the waters . . . wanted to turn back but we had come too far to return to Culinnon with nothing . . . my duty as a Byrne for the f . . . a power greater than anything I ever thought possible . . . past, present, and future, all contained in . . . spoke to me and gave gifts that will keep this family strong for generations to come. I did not think at the time to . . . fog descended and became . . . off course and for days . . . there is more I know there is more. And it rightfully belongs . . . power that this country could not even begin to understand . . . will be tied to Culinnon for all time and therefore must be protected at all . . . rested and will journey again once the leg has healed. I must return to the island. It calls to me. It belongs to . . .

“An island,” Agnes murmured. “With a palace atop a cliff. This scroll is speaking of Braxos.”

“I am not liking the sound of this power greater than anything possible,” Vada said darkly.

“But we know Braxos holds power,” she said. “It has the tether.”

“How do we know that is what this scroll speaks of?” Vada said. “If humans cannot see the tether, as Sera says, then perhaps this Byrne is meaning something else.”